Cinderella
by Sora5675
Summary: Carlos/Logan with a different twist then the fairy tale we all know and love


There was a ringing, it was a very shrill ringing one where you would very much rather kill the ringer rather than follow orders.

Logan turned over with a groan, pulling his pillow over his head, trying to block out the shrill bell. But it didn't stop, instead it became more urgent. Finally, he kicked off his blankets and tossed his pillow aside. He stumbled across the room in a drowsy haze and checked the bells. It was from Camille's room.

With a sigh, Logan hunted around his room, finding a pair of pants that were at least partially clean, and ran a hand through his dark hair. After a glance in the mirror, he decided that he was decent enough for a trip through the house and started upstairs.

The hallways always seemed longer in the morning, when he was still half asleep and not really in the mind to comprehend what today's little chore would be, especially since he hadn't even had breakfast yet. But he had to climb the three stories to his sister's room, just like she demanded and just like he was trained.

Logan slowly opened the door and peered inside. Camille was perched on her bed, one hand holding a book open, the other fiddling absent absentmindedly with the canopy tassel on her bed. She was still dressed in her sleep ware, which he found somewhat odd.

"Don't just stand there like a peeping tom!" Camille said, glancing up momentarily. She gestured at him with a hand. "Come on in, take a seat." Logan stood hesitantly in the doorway, feeling as though he was a hummingbird about to alight on a flower that looked to sweet to bear.

"No, really that's enough prowling around, it give me the creeps when you stand there." Camille waved a hand at a chair next to her bed. "Have a seat." Logan inched across the room towards the indicated chair and slowly sat down.

"How was your sleep?" Camille asked, looking up from her book out of the corner of her eye.

"Um, fine." Logan muttered, staring down at the rug covering the hardwood floor. He only remembered vaguely when he had a room as grand as this one, and he was a bit ashamed at how he took it for granted. Camille watched him a bit critically as his reply and closed her book, giving him a cheery smile. He heard a chatting from inside Camille's closet and he gave a small jump when he saw Jo, Camille's maid, emerge. Camille giggled and turned towards Jo.

"You gave him quite a fright," She said.

Jo blinked at him and huffed, smoothing out a dress in her arms. "Serves him for not paying attention. You can't go jumping at every little thing, you know." She finished fussing with the silk chemise and held it out for Camille. Camille grinned and looked it over, before showing it to Logan.

"How about you try this on?" She said. Logan felt his whole body seize up.

"Why?" He asked, unconsciously leaning back away from the dress as if it was a plague infested rat rather than some harmless, if not somewhat expensive under slip.

"Oh, come now, I want to see how it looks on you."

Jo tsked and grabbed Logan by the arm, pulling him out of the chair. "Can't you just entertain your sister just once?" Logan glanced sideways at her and reached from the chemise.

Katie entered the room several minutes later, and stopped in the middle of the room to give Logan a critical look over. She was only slightly more dressed than her sister, with her long dark hair brushed in the very least.

Logan shifted his weight and wrapped his arms around himself. Even though he hadn't removed his pants yet, the smooth cloth of the chemise was still cold on his skin, and he looked longingly at his discarded shirt that was thrown carelessly on the chair.

"Good morning, sister." Katie said, walking over to her sibling. Camille bent down and kissed Katie on the cheek.

"And what a beautiful day it'll be, I'm sure." Camille said, "I can feel it." She waggled a finger. "There's something special in the air."

"You can say that all you want." Katie said, heading towards the closet. "It won't make you more of a fortune teller than that old lady in town."

"So what will we be having today?" Katie called from inside the closet. Logan could imagine her thumbing though dresses, picking out the one he would parade around that day.

"How about something pink?" Camille responded, and looked at Logan. "He looks pink today."

"I don't think so." Katie said, half emerging from the closet for a moment before re-entering. The sleeves of the chemise wrinkled under Logan's fingers.

"That what would you say? Not blue, we did that last time."

"Maybe if blue didn't look so well on him, maybe not."

Katie emerged from the closet, carrying a dress. She stopped in front of Logan and held it up to him.

Logan shivered as Katie hummed dispassionately and returned back to the closet, Camille arguing with her the entire way.

Logan wished to sink into the wall or floor, or become something that his sisters wouldn't care about, a rat, a dog or Bob. But now he realized no matter how hard he wished he would always be Logan stuck in his sister's bedrooms non-consensually playing dress up.

It was several dresses later until they found today's dress, and Logan was fitted with a corset, something he was fairly use to by then, and smothered with the dress. Camille and Katie stepped back to admire their decision, before turning around and retreating to Camille's vanity for make up.

Logan sank into a chair as Camille and Katie bickered good naturally about wigs. He blinked down at himself and sighed, running a hand though his hair. He felt numb, just like all the other time he was forced to do this, to dress up like some giant doll for his sisters. His fingers were shaking as he reached behind him and began unbuttoning the dress, quietly so his sisters wouldn't notice. He pulled the dress slowly off and stood up, climbing out, and placing the dress carefully on the chair. His sisters didn't notice him leaving until the door clicked behind him

"Logan?"

He had already take off down the hallway, darting down one, two set of stairs and ran into his room, before whirling around and slamming the door. He stood in front of the door shaking violently.

"How.. how dare they?" He whispered harshly at the stone. He leaned against a wall and let himself slide down to the floor, holding his head in his hands. "What are they trying to accomplish from this?" He babbled nonsensically. "What, why.." He scoffed at the far wall before looking down at himself.

He scowled and tore off the chemise, chucking it down on the floor. He glanced around the room, looking for a way to rid himself of it. He noticed his shaving knife sitting on the edge of the sink and grabbed it. He commenced shredding it, tossing the loose pieces into the fireplace. Within several more minutes he had the fire up and burning, the silk remains of the chemise curling up on the ashes. He knelt near the hearth, hands out feeling the heat radiating off. His hands were covered in soot and one of his fingers was cut.

After the fire had died down some, he sighed and stood up, heading back towards his sink. He rinsed off the knife and splashed his face with water, feeling the drops trickle down his face. He felt horrid for what he had done, ruining one of his sister's many garments. He felt as though it should have been a victory on his part, but he couldn't help feeling guilty about it.

Logan was consistently horrified at his stepsisters' actions, always trying to comprehend what exactly drove them to do such things. Despite all his self questioning he could never figure out why they were so spoiled in that respect, why they felt as though the had the right to torture him like this. Their attitude was a far cry from how their sickly mother acted. She was always so kind to him, even though she was largely contained to her bed, unable to watch what her precious daughters were doing to him.

Logan sometimes though that, maybe if he hadn't acted so headstrong when he first met them, if he had been nice to them, they would have left him be. Maybe if he didn't mock them for being females they would have left him alone.

But it was something that he couldn't stop now, the entire practice seven or eight years in the making. It wasn't something he could escape from now, no matter how much he could fantasize its end.


End file.
